


the cure

by storyskein



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hangover, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Scissoring, Tribadism, slightly dommey ann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25178377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyskein/pseuds/storyskein
Summary: Anne has a hangover. Ann has a cure.
Relationships: Anne Lister (1791-1840)/Ann Walker (1803-1854)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120





	the cure

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to little_halo for being my last minute beta! 
> 
> might i suggest "show me" and "make you feel" by alina baraz & galimatias

Anne woke the first time to the gentle patter of rain on the window. The half-light in the room told her it was barely dawn. She never could sleep well when she drank too much. 

Usually, she didn’t over-imbibe to this extent. But, to her surprise, when Anne and Ann took their seats at the table for the expansive dinner party held by Lord Edward Thornton, caddy-corner to their left, was Vera and her husband. They had arrived late and Anne hadn’t noticed their entrance. She took to drinking faster than usual, then. The real topper came, however, when an old beau of Ann’s also appeared. 

_Ghosts everywhere_ , Anne murmured into her Claret. 

Anne knew, of course, that Ann wasn’t interested in some old suitor from when she was sixteen. In the same way, Anne knew she had buried all of her own hopes for Vera a long time ago. But the phantoms still stirred something in her that night—the feelings of not being enough, of being too much. Of being too different. The insecurities that someday Ann would leave her, that she would be left, wanting, again. 

So she drank, and smiled bright, and engaged in loud and witty conversation. Ann knew that something was amiss—her hand never left Anne’s thigh after the consommé—but in the gentle way of Ann, she seemed to understand. Only when the night was done and the footmen bundled them into their carriage, did Ann say anything, and it was simple, and all she needed. 

“I only want you,” she whispered and placed a chaste kiss right under Anne’s ear. 

The rest of the night was a patchwork of memories and sensations, none in focus yet. And then darkness until she arrived on this wobbly morning shore. 

So Anne blinked once, slowly, like a newborn kitten, because last night’s copious amount of wine and brandy were determined to make themselves known. The room tilted one way, then another. She closed her eyes again, willing sleep to take her over. 

*

Instead, she lay in the twilight realm, neither here nor there, swimming on the blessedly gentle waves of the rather expensive Bordeaux working its way out of her system. She had overdone it, but not enough to be truly punished. Bless. 

She belatedly wondered how Ann fared, but remembered her gentle hand covering the top of the wine glass, refusing the third glass that Anne had indulged in (and fourth, and nightcap of a Cognac). Anne silently cursed Ann’s moderation.

Her belly pulled tight, however, when she recalled Ann’s distinct lack of moderation once they retired to their room. The watercolor memories of the night before now came into—admittedly still fuzzy—focus. Half-lucid, Anne felt again the soft, silky flesh of Ann’s breast in her hand, tasted iodine-salt of Ann’s quim. Heard again the quiet laughter and not-so-quiet moans as Ann rocked her cunt back and forth over Anne’s pressing tongue. 

Anne let the memory overtake her as she floated, content in the morning’s quiet. 

*

“Poor Anne.” A gentle whisper beckoned in the dark. “You’re hungover.” 

Anne tried to lift her eyelid but found it markedly difficult. She settled for resolutely keeping them shut. “I’m not.” 

Ann laughed, teasing and raspy. “Well then, I guess you don’t want my cure—”

“Cure?” Anne sniffed. Probably some tincture from that doctor in York. Probably tasted like rotted eggs. Her stomach didn’t lurch, exactly, at that thought, but wasn’t happy either. 

“Mmmhm.” Anne felt Ann shift on the bed. “Guaranteed to make you feel better.” 

Ann shifted her weight down on the bed, rustling the linens and silks of the bed coverings. Anne felt cool air hit the tops of her thighs, enough to startle her to prop herself up half-way on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

Ann just looked up and smiled mischievously, golden waves framing her face. “Shh. Don’t upset yourself.” 

“I’m not upset, I—”

Then as Ann’s warm tongue licked once, gentle on Anne’s clit, Anne sighed and fell back on the pillows. She laughed. “This is your cure, is it?”

Ann made an affirmative humming noise against Anne’s cunt which made her thighs twitch and a liquid current of heat flow down her spine. “Like I said. Guaranteed. Now shush.” 

Anne shushed as instructed, didn’t resist as Ann impatiently pushed apart her thighs to a lewd angle. Ann liked full access, that much Anne knew and was grateful for as Ann’s tongue licked broad, greedy strokes from clit to cleft and back again. 

It wasn’t long before Anne’s hand fisted into Ann’s hair, twisting and gripping her curls in her fingers, demanding that Ann’s mouth stay put while Anne’s hips rocked over her pretty tongue. 

“Christ, I’m close,” Anne groaned, her hips circling tight as Ann alternated both pressing her deliciously wet tongue against Anne’s clit and sucking hard. The combination of both sensations wrecked Anne’s already lowered sensations. She flexed her hands into the sheets, willing herself to stay in the moment, not giving in to the complete pleasure yet. 

But the orgasm built faster than expected, due to the canny way Ann deployed her tongue—ruthless, precise in the very best of ways. Circling Anne’s clit while maintaining pressure, moving her head slowly and deliberately and deliciously wet—back and forth—over and over—chasing Anne’s hip movements—gripping Anne’s pubic hair and tugging to add a sweet-delicious contrast of pain to the pleasure. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Anne prayer-whispered, feeling the orgasm roll through her body, causing goosebumps to prickle across her skin. It was one of those orgasms that shimmered right under the skin, made you want to stretch and sigh. 

Anne took her time floating back to Earth. She let her eyes lazily open and found Ann studying her. Ann’s left arm was slung lazily over Anne’s hips and belly, cheek resting on top of her hand. With her other hand, she drug fingertips over Anne’s low belly, hip bones, the top of her thighs. It tickled in a distant sort of way, the sensation sliding into the heat was beginning to build again. 

Ann’s impish, satisfied smirk had yet to fade, so Anne asked: “What do you have planned there, Miss Walker?”

Ann lifted an eyebrow, continued to drag her fingertips over what she knew to be Anne’s ticklish places. She opened her mouth to retort, then her pretty mouth closed. The smirk grew into a determined grin as Ann shoved herself up and sat back. 

Was there anymore erotic sight than a beautiful woman in the dim morning light, night shift disheveled, mussed hair cascading over her shoulders? There was no sunshine on this rainy morning, and the blue-black shadows only made Ann more alluring. In the light, Ann was open, gregarious, trusting, and her sweet smiles and demur head tilts reflected that. Now, there was an impish mark to her mouth, a succubus’ delight in the way her eyebrow lifted. 

Ann, with her eyes locked on Anne’s, tucked her lip under her teeth. Slowly, she began to untie the ribbons holding together the lace and silk across her breasts while she slid her knees on either side of Anne’s hips. 

Anne’s breath caught as Ann’s fingers deftly worked the bow. Ann dropped the ribbon. Her shift fell partially open, revealing the tops of her breasts, leaving what Anne knew to be the rosy pink nipples hidden. 

Anne moved to sit up, compelled to kiss, to touch, suddenly feverish with wanting and not giving a damn how swampy her head felt.

“Nuh-uh,” Ann tsked. Placing a hand on Anne’s chest, Ann pushed her back down. 

Truthfully, it didn’t take much and Anne fell back on the pillows. “I just want—”

“I know what you want.” Ann leaned over, bracing herself with her palms on either side of Anne. She lowered herself, just enough so that she could lightly drag her shift-covered nipples over Anne’s, just enough so that Anne frustration began to weave in with desire. She wanted Ann, and she wanted her now. 

“Do you now?” Anne’s voice came out thready. “And what is that? You on your back with my head between your legs?”

Anne smirked. “You always want that. But…I think I can give you something bet--” 

“Watch it,” Anne smacked her bottom. 

“Different,” Ann finished, punctuating her insolence by kissing Anne’s nose. “Now, stop being a baby.” 

“I’m not a—”

“Shh.” Ann laughed at Anne’s clear petulance. She bent down, bit Anne’s bottom lip and tugged. “Quiet, Anne.” 

A whine built in the back of Anne’s throat. She felt the impulse to buck her hips into Ann’s, to flip Ann over and rip off her shift and just fuck for god’s sake. To press open Ann’s thighs and pound into her. She could hear it, feel it, so tangible in that one second: the wet sound of their flesh slapping together, Ann breathlessly demanding harder, harder, harder, Anne knew that her darling liked it rough, liked the pace relentless to the point of punishing, loved it when Anne held her wrists tight above her head and just fucked her. 

But her Ann was having none of it. 

Ann gently touched her lips against Anne’s, soft and delicate as a rose petal. Ann kept her lips there for a moment, unmoving, letting the moment and all of the sensations settle over them both. Knowing that this kind of stillness, any kind of stillness, drove Anne crazy.

_Rain patter, halted breath, soft linen, silky lace, tender skin, gentle lips—_

—And there—so subtly—Ann’s hips twitched. It was a minute movement, a shy movement, and made Anne gasp into Ann’s mouth. It occurred to Anne that—no, Ann hadn’t ever sought to take charge like this before. And that realization—

Anne brought her hips up to meet Ann’s, unhurried, meeting Ann’s languorous pace. They rocked against each other, the soft fabric creating more friction than it relieved. Pressure began to build in Anne’s cunt, deliciously, frustratingly slow. Ann leaned over her, keeping the pace steady as she shrugged the nightgown off her shoulders, and her creamy breasts spilling out. 

“Take it,” Anne commanded, teasing her tits over Anne’s lips. Anne sucked the nipple into her mouth with a satisfied sigh. As payback for the torture, she flicked Ann’s nipple hard with her tongue, rolled it lightly between her teeth, applying just enough pressure to make Ann’s hips stutter. 

Ann moaned her name, eyelids began to flutter as she rolled, circled, arched her hips over Anne’s. 

“Darling,” Anne lifted her head, just enough to kiss Ann. “Lay back, let me bring you to pleasure.” 

Ann tucked her lip under her teeth. Grinned.“No. I’m having too much fun.” 

Anne groaned. “Minx.” 

Ann shrugged as she pushed up and off Anne. Anne sighed a little as the warmth left, only to be even more delighted when Ann quickly discarded the nightgown that had pooled at her hips. 

It was only then that Anne had an idea about what Ann was about to do; something that only Anne had ever done to her. Something that Anne had never been the receiver of, only the giver, only the dominant. Anticipation swelled in Anne, mixed with a certain sort of nervousness—a vulnerability, if she ever even entertained such a thought, which she didn’t—except now, perhaps, in the morning gloom, her naked bride proudly kneeling before her, her smile beginning every so slightly to falter. 

“Is this all right, then?” Ann asked, shyness creeping into her voice. 

“Yes, of course.” Anne smoothed her hand up Ann’s thigh, following the curve of her hip and settling there. 

Ann knew better than that, but let Anne keep her dignity. For the moment, anyway. 

“Good, then.” And in one swift motion, Ann pushed up Anne’s shift and had it off of her and in a puddle on the floor before Anne even knew what happened. 

“Now, that’s better,” Ann purred. She pushed Anne’s legs open and Anne shivered at the contrast of cool air on her hot cunt, and shivered again when Anne’s thumb began circling her clit. 

“You’re so wet,” Ann’s voice held a note of wonder as she stroked Anne. “I can never believe that I…that I do that to you.” 

“Well, you do.” Anne bit her lip and arched her hips, seeking more touch from Ann. Ann obliged by dipping her further into Anne’s cunt, drawing her arousal up the length of Anne’s folds. She kept her eyes on Anne as she stroked, dipping her fingers into Anne’s come and spreading it all over so she was filthy wet. Up, down, up, down, across to her thighs, lewdly displaying for them both how turned on Anne was. Throughout it all, Ann kept that same slow, maddening, languorous pace she had kept all morning that was driving Anne to distraction. The sheer intensity of wanting building in Anne’s clit, cunt, her belly, her thighs, up her spine—if she didn’t find some release soon she’d die, she was sure of it. 

“Ann—”

“Hm?” Ann whispered conspiratorially, coquettishly even. “Do you want something?” 

“Fuck,” Anne groaned. “Yes, you, your fingers inside me. Your mouth on me. Just—just _fuck me, please.”_

She brought her fingers to her mouth, licked each one as if she had just dipped her fingers in the sweetest Chantilly cream. “Such a polite request. I suppose I can accommodate it.” 

But then Ann did something unexpected. Instead of bending down to put her mouth on Anne’s quim or begin fucking her with her delicate fingers, Ann put her hands on Anne’s thighs and moved them further apart. 

“What are you—?”

“Shh,” Ann said, voice softer than the facade she had been playing with. “Quiet or I’ll lose my nerve.” Then as quickly as she let the facade slip, she put it back up with a glint of heat in her cornflower-blue eyes. “I’m going to fuck you, Anne.” 

Anne shuddered, her whole body feeling like an exposed, aching nerve. Ann slid her cunt over Anne’s, light and teasing at first. Anne felt the wet heat, the delicate brushing of Ann’s labia over hers, then gasped as Ann kept rocked down, finding that justright pressure. 

They both moaned in unison as the experimental rocking turned into fucking. Ann pulled up Anne’s thigh, holding it to steady own movements as she ground down, seeking that more, more, _more_. Anne gripped Anne’s hips, encouraging Ann to go harder, to give up that calculated control. She desperately wanted nothing more than to see Ann cry out as an orgasm consumed her. 

She was getting close, Anne could tell. Her hips drove into Anne’s cunt and the slapping noises of flesh filled the close, hot air around them. Ann let go of Anne’s thigh, braced back on one hand, as her hips started a tight, circular motion over Anne’s clit.

Anne arched her hips into Ann’s, giving into finding the friction, the release, she craved. Ann yelped in surprised pleasure, head falling back, throat exposed. Anne admired the sight: her wife, abandoned in pleasure, goosebumps unfurling up her body, nipples rock hard, hair like a waterfall of golden silk. 

And that—seeing that image—pushed Anne over. Her fingers gripped into Ann’s fleshy bottom as she bucked into Ann, half-wild, meeting Ann’s own frenzied pace. Anne could tell Ann was nearing the edge. Her body stiffened, went rigid with pleasure as her pink mouth dropped open, letting out a low, punctuated moan. Anne met her there, went over the cliff with her, the room instantly swallowed by starry darkness. 

All Anne knew, then, was the sound of panting. The feel of Ann’s come on her, the velvet heat of Ann’s flesh, the stickiness of the sweat on their bodies. Her eyes still closed, she noted the strange, compartmentalized sensations. Skin. Wet. Heat. The aftershocks of her come. The settled weight of Ann, still between her thighs, body still twitching. 

It took them a moment, but, unspeaking Ann finally slid down to Anne’s side. She nestled under Anne’s awaiting arm, placing light kisses along Ann’s ribs.

“Careful there,” Anne said lazily, noting Ann’s proximity to her armpit. “Drinking and sweat…”

“Must you always be so crude?” But Ann’s voice held no heat. 

Anne’s mouth twitched. “Madam, I do not think you are to be giving lectures on crudeness at the moment—”

Ann snorted. “Perhaps,” she said primly. “But, did my cure work?”

A laugh built in Anne's throat. “Indeed. No jackhammer in my skull. No swamp guts. I was afraid it was something from that doctor in York.” 

“Mmm, no, not for my Anne.” Ann shifted her leg over Anne’s thighs, skimmed her palm up over Anne’s ribs, the curve of her breast, then cupped her hand over Anne’s breast and kept it there. 

“Only the best, aye?” Anne leaned down and kissed Ann’s forehead. 

But she had already fallen asleep. And, thoroughly tired out—and with a notable absence of a headache—Anne did, too. 


End file.
